ORIGINS
(C)1989 Alan M. Schwartz
I have been asked, "how is it that so many obtuse rumblings have
come forth to blacken the pages of our lives?" I admit that I
have taken sole credit for that for which I have taken sole
credit. In truth, everything that you have read owes its origin
to an event which holds hope and happiness for all of mankind
everywhere, except for the Bronx and parts of northern New
Jersey. Fiat lux a maximis ad minima, or something.
WITNESSETH: Overcome in a swoon or visited by aliens or bearing
personal witness to another "National Enquirer" fantasy, I forget
which, a great susurrus and a great diaphanous nimbus enveloped
me. A most wondrous being of brilliant light, bugle beads,
sequins and silver lame, marvelous tongue lolling about his chin,
bade me listen closely while marvels denied the most virtuous
maiden were to be made mine. I was bade travel through a lost
mine or search at the base of a mountain stream or sign for a
Parcel Post package, I forget which, whereupon was made evident
to me most wondrous multilayer composite wooden plaques deeply
inscribed with apparently indecipherable runes and surmounted
with the charred brand "Boise Cascade."
Many minutes did I consume laboriously seeking knowledge from the
weathered boards. I fiercely pressed my most sensitive body
parts to the splintered surface to no effect save personal pain
and bloodshed. I shrieked and howled at the obdurate wood and
received no echo. I stomped about the incised planks making many
circles, yet no enlightenment was forthcoming. Frustrated beyond
containable rage I smote a six pack of the King of Beers when to
my surprise and delight two remaining undamaged bottle bottoms
resting upon the plaques miraculously deciphered the holy
inscriptions. In a fit of consuming fever I fashioned spectacles
and with great determination and reverence gave the world its
revelation.
My ballpoint pen touched a final period to my composition book,
or I typed the final period upon the last piece of bond paper, or
I entered a final Ctrl-KD into my word processor, I forget which,
gloriously finishing the ordained translation. Suddenly and
instantaneously, without warning, white hot flame consumed the
tablets and the consecrated spectacles, or they eerily ascended
into the sky of their own accord, or they crumbled into dust, I
forget which.
Ask yourself, what good is revelation unless it can be inflicted?
Where would civilization be if the foremost religious avatars of
our human race did not spread the word widely, people like Moses,
Christ, Mohammed, Buddha, Mary Baker Eddington, L. Ron Hubbard,
and Ronald McDonald? I immediately contacted every consequential
magazine and newspaper published in the continental United
States. Some of them were nice enough to return a politely
worded rejection notice, others apparently ignored me, and one
returned a freeze-dried human hand and a stern warning. The
"Deseret Tattler" is just a little bit touchy, don't you think?
I encoded a 360K floppy with the archived text and sent it to the
Pentagon, knowing full well that the military mind is honed to
preternatural sensitivity, trained to recognize what is relevant
in a sea of obtuse information, and possessive of the will and
determination to achieve a sighted goal. Tripoli, Libya was
pounded to dust with air-launched smart munitions seventeen days
thereafter. I publicly apologize for and deeply regret not
signing the READ.ME file "Ed Koch."
I required a fanatic cadre whose members, not understanding the
rhetorical dialectic, would be too proud, stubborn, and boorish
to admit it, redoubling their efforts with no achievable
objective in sight. I coveted financial excess, a churning sea
of Accounts Receivable pouring wealth into my hands for the
asking. I anticipated glorious clothing expensively wrought from
the most outrageously ornate fabrics. I fantasized mammoth
estates, overwhelming architecture, manicured gardens, ascending
legions of servants, my very plates and glasses fashioned from
precious metal and rare gems, and corruption sufficient to tempt
the gods themselves. Alas, Christianity had pilfered the till
with a two millennium head start.
Where would I find the malleable public to tempt and bamboozle?
Where, indeed?